


War Song

by snowpuppies



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: AU, Angst, F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 13:01:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowpuppies/pseuds/snowpuppies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it made the wolf howl. AU of Wild At Heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slashmarks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashmarks/gifts).



> A/N: for femslash_minis, written for slashmarks who requested "checking out the competition, dubcon, innocence"  
> A/N2: also for tamingthemuse, #220 - melancholy
> 
> Beta'd by velvetwhip, the wonderful!

She doesn't understand.

The girl is a toddler—fuzzy sweaters and mary janes, big, wide eyes and a mousy shrug—but he sticks to her like glue.

He could be wild, wind in his hair, moon against his back, screaming with the night and drifting during the day, but instead, he clings to this… _girl_.

*

She doesn't understand.

That skank is all…skanky and…and…well, not a good person. Anyone with eyes can see that from the way she's molesting the microphone.

But as much as she tries, she can't keep Oz's eyes away.

*

Well, she can do big eyes, too.

Soft and entreating, playing beta to his alpha, pressing and pushing in a way that's never failed her before.

And when it does for the first time, there's always the moon.

*

Well, she can do skanky, too.

Leather pants—and oh, boy, are those things… _sticky_ —and too much makeup. Heels. Something neither sparkly nor furry on top.

Too bad it falls flat.

*

She has to wonder…what's the big deal with this girl?

So she begins the hunt.

Nose to the ground, skulking behind trees and darting behind the bushes, she watches as Little Red Riding Hood skips her way to class, nose buried in a book, sun-shiny smile greeting her friends.

She's perplexed.

And something stirs.

*

She can't help but wonder what's the difference between one skank and the next?

So she hangs around the Bronze.

Sipping Coca-Cola while she tries to escape the throng of dancing, drinking, laughing people, hiding in a corner booth, peering out at the girl on the stage.

There's something… _there_.

She wants to find out.

*

She follows Little Red home.

Knocks.

When the door opens, Willow is in a sleeveless blue nightie. Cotton. Soft.

The girl smells like sunshine, apples and summer rain.

She stalks forward, past the stammering, stuttering Willow and into the room.

The door swings shut behind her.

*

Veruca shows up at her dorm.

She stares, flummoxed, as the girl strolls inside, not so much as a never-you-mind, and closes the door.

She bites her lip while Veruca's eyes slide shut and she… _inhales_.

She hates that she finds it kinda sorta hot.

Then blue eyes pop open and… _Whoa, personal space, not so much_.

*

She crowds closer, hoping to find the thing, that intangible thing that makes this girl special.

When she's close enough to feel the pulse in Willow's neck against her lips, she breaks.

She dives in, headfirst, lips and teeth, fingers and hips and tongue _pressing_. She needs it, needs it now. Needs that innocence and hope and optimism like air. Wants to strip her clothes off and roll in it like a dog (a _Wolf_ ), wants to swallow and bite and tear and grasp and devour.

*

She yelps when Veruca pushes her across the room, tripping over a discarded shoe—can't Buffy put things away for once?—and landing on the bed.

Veruca's all hands, all teeth, all tongue, and Willow feels like she's lost the plot somewhere, like her favorite movie was suddenly recast and edited and the star's fallen into the Twilight Zone, or maybe she has, because this is more than Hellmouth-weird, and she should really do something about this except it really does feel good, and she wonders if maybe she could learn something new, something Veruca has that she doesn't, so she bites her tongue and bides her time, rationalizing herself away from the truth.

*

She's beginning to understand.

Soft whimpers reach her ears as she presses herself between Willow's legs, eating her like a rare steak, juices dripping down her chin, tickling her nose and coating her cheeks. Smooth, pale thighs mash against her cheeks as her tongue slips inside; her fingers follow the silky flesh from hip to knee then back again, gripping until she can hear the protest slip from Willow's lips, then slipping up to give her a firm suck.

*

She's being eaten alive.

She never thought she'd think that and have it be a good thing, but she's not complaining, not when Veruca's fingers slide in _deep_ and her slippyslick mouth slides up Willow's body to take a firm nipple between full lips.

She whines.

Sure, she's had this experience before, but never with such… _abandon_.

She's definitely beginning to understand.

*

Willow cries out, limbs flailing as she pulses inside.

Veruca pulls back, Cheshire-mad-grin stretching across her face, and leans against the headboard, legs splayed as she slides her still-warmsticky fingers inside herself.

It doesn't take long.

Willow's watching, sleepy-eyed, where she landed after her climax.

Veruca studies the soft, sated look on Willow's face.

  
She thinks, for a moment, about what could be: One…Two…Three running through the forest, moonlight on their fur, howling in ecstasy, pale flesh wrapped together come the dawn…

She almost makes up her mind to follow the fantasy, but then she realizes: the Wolf would destroy the innocence, the sweetness, the softness…

And everything would change.

  
Sighing, she climbs over Willow to slip off the bed, gathering clothes and shoes and pulling them on with an efficiency only gained from years of waking up naked in unknown (and sometimes embarrassing) locations.

She glances back, once more, at the girl on the bed.

And she understands.

She turns and walks out the door.

She doesn't say a word.

*

Veruca goes, slipping out like a dream, the only evidence of her presence drying on Willow's thighs.

She's exhausted, but satisfied.

She wonders, for just a moment, what it would be like: casting off the rules and regulations, tossing her color-coded notes and good-girl manners and running wild and free…

But it's too big, too scary, and sometimes she likes her good-girl manners and she spent a long time on color-coding her notes, and really, being Willow Rosenberg isn't all that bad, most of the time.

Still, she thinks she understands now.

Silently, she gathers the torn fragments of her gown and panties and tosses them in the trash. She puts on her robe and grabs her towel.

She heads into the hallway.

It's time for a shower.

  
 _FIN_.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally archived [here](http://snowpuppies.dreamwidth.org/262869.html).


End file.
